


He's a Regular Mark Antony

by bitochondria



Series: Like Butch and Sundance [1]
Category: Wiseguy
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Bisexual Vinnie Terranova, Blow Jobs, Break Up, Canon-Typical Attitudes, Casual Sex, Communication Failure, Episode: s03eo6 How Will They Remember Me?, Flashbacks, Flashbacks to Dead Dog Records Arc, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Break Up, Reasonably Canon Compliant, References to Steelgrave Arc, Reluctantly Bisexual Frank McPike, Self-Esteem Issues, Vinnie reflects on his many failed relationships, Vinnie reminisces about a brief abortive relationship with Frank especially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitochondria/pseuds/bitochondria
Summary: Having now come to the end of two relationships at The Lifeguard's cabin, Vinnie reflects on how being an OCB agent is absolutely terrible for his love life. He thinks back to the first time Frank touched him, and wonders if he'll ever get closure.
Relationships: Frank McPike/Vinnie Terranova, Past Sonny Steelgrave/Vinnie Terranova, Past Vinnie Terranova/Amber Twine
Series: Like Butch and Sundance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185941
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	He's a Regular Mark Antony

“So how’d it go?” The Lifeguard wriggled his salt-and-pepper eyebrows and cast Vinnie a salacious sort of glance. 

Vinnie rolled his eyes, plopping the keys on his table a little too hard. “That cabin of yours is cursed, Uncle Mike. The cabin where relationships go to die.” He blinked, slowly, eyes hard and brows raised, daring him to ask any follow-up questions. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Vin,” he pouted, legitimately contrite. But then he was glib as ever— “But I would hardly say one breakup damns the place. Other fishes and all that.” He slapped Vinnie on his lower back, rolling over to pick up his keys. 

Blood flooded Vinnie’s face and neck. He had come just a little bit too close to implying something he forgot, somehow, that Uncle Mike didn’t know: that actually, this was the second time he had come to terms with the end of a romantic entanglement there. 

The other relationship— well— 

Relationship maybe wasn’t the right word.

None of it had been intentional. And of course, it had only lasted for a short period of time before they had both taken a hard look at what they were doing and (semi-)mutually decided to back off. And he had been right, of course. It had been dumb to even try, for a thousand reasons— personal, professional, political— hell, psychological.

But it didn’t make it hurt any less, especially now, being reminded of the moment he had really, finally, realized it just wasn’t going to happen. 

They had already technically ‘broken up,’ if they had ever really been ‘dating,’ by the time he was last at the cabin, but the nights there spent arguing across ancient creaky twin beds had been the final nail in the coffin.

Before they had gone, Vinnie had legitimately managed to forget about the fact that they had planned the stupid fishing trip at all— it was a promise that had been made in the brief bubble of romantic intentions they had inhabited. He had assumed it was called off, since they weren’t exactly in need of private time together any longer. So when Frank had insisted they go off on this ridiculous vacation  _ anyway, _ Vinnie had been incandescently angry. 

Frank had been the one who told him to forget it all— Frank had said he would do the same, just pretend nothing had happened between them— and yet  _ Frank _ had torn the bandaid off before the wound healed. Why go when the only thing they could possibly get out of it was grief? 

Even so, Vinnie couldn’t have helped, ever so briefly, in the bottom-most part of his heart, tucked beneath a thousand other feelings he wasn’t supposed to be feeling, get a little excited, thinking maybe Frank had changed his mind. And then he had been angry again, learning that they weren’t going to be alone after all. And then, honestly, more than a little relieved that Uncle Mike— rather, Dan— would be chaperoning.

But mostly, he had spent the trip feeling tired and off-balance. Everything was just too much about  _ family _ and  _ marriage _ and  _ kids _ , when Vinnie would be willing to skip all of those things for a little companionship and understanding.

It might not have been intentional, what had happened with Frank, but it hadn’t exactly been  _ bad _ either. And romantic intentionality wasn’t frankly Vinnie’s forte, anyway— sure as hell nothing with Sonny had been  _ intentional _ , and the mess with Susan had been about as far from  _ intentional _ as pissing into the wind. But it had been nice— with Frank— while it had been happening, even if it was short lived. Would’ve been even nicer if they could have kept it up.

On that boneheaded fishing trip, they had mostly argued. There had been a split second the last night there— god, Frank had even let him kiss him, even if it was just on the cheek— where something shifted. The air between them felt different again. And then after Dan had left, there had been a moment when they looked at each other— really looked at each other— Frank standing in his sweatpants, bare feet on the cold cabin floor, Vinnie in his thermals. The look in Frank’s eyes made Vinnie think maybe he was feeling a little regretful, or a little cozy, or a little reckless. And then they were in the car, driving back to the real world, pretending like that little spark hadn’t reignited for a millisecond or two. 

When Frank called Jenny as they drove, Vinnie contemplated tucking up and hurling himself out the door. There was no competing with the mother of his child, after all.

Vinnie realized he had been staring at Dan’s wall with his mouth open, like a bass ready to filet. He closed his jaw and lied through his teeth.

“I was counting you and your ex-wife in that number,” he shrugged. 

Certainly not himself and his superior officer.

“Jeez, Vinnie.” Dan grimaced. “Maybe you’re right— I let Frank and Jenny stay there a few years back, too.” He licked his lips thoughtfully, head bobbing to the left. “I should look into getting an exorcism done before trying to impress any ladies with my woodsman’s instincts, I guess.” 

He suddenly grinned.

“Or maybe I should offer the cabin to my daughter and The Bastard.” 

Vinnie snorted. “I thought you were okay with the guy, now.” 

Dan rolled his eyes and sighed. “I can be  _ okay _ with it and still not thrilled, kid.” He brought the keys over to a chest of drawers and stuck them in the upper left, in a drawer with an assortment of change and other keys and a pair of screwdrivers and a whole lot of other crap he couldn’t identify. 

That seemed fitting. Dan struck him as a man very much like that chest of drawers— solid and dependable, handsome in a woodsy kind of way, clean and tidy on the outside— and total chaos just underneath the surface. He hid his emotions well, for better or for worse.

He thought of Frank, who liked to play-act at stoicism, usually unsuccessfully.

Vinnie had a thing— and maybe it came from growing up in the neighborhood— for guys who were angry at the world. Tough guys— especially little ones, short dudes with big chips on their shoulders. Most people wouldn’t look at Sonny Steelgrave and Frank McPike and think there were any similarities between them, but Vinnie knew better. There was a shared pedigree of bitterness and drive and self-righteousness, there, just pointed in two very different directions. Either way— there was something real fuckin’ cute about a little terrier of a guy, ready to bite out the throat of any passing pitbull. 

But even assuming there was any way for an undercover fed to maintain a relationship with another man, those kinds of guys didn’t really tend to be  _ relationship material _ .

Amber was cut from the same cloth, and Vinnie knew Frank understood that. Every time he had made an implication about their relationship, it had been like a surprise papercut. Like Frank was acknowledging that he was pushing Vinnie towards a version of their own relationship that  _ wouldn’t  _ get him fired. One that wasn’t technically infidelity, either.

And he had been right, even if it hadn’t worked out— with women, it was always the brains that got him, really. Beautiful was nice, but  _ smart _ was a killer. Smart women with hard edges. Women other men might describe as ‘too much.’ Ballbusters. It was why it never would’ve worked out with Angie, no matter how much she felt like family— she loved him too soft, without any challenge or bite to it. And it was part of why he let himself be led along by Susan, even knowing everything he knew about her and Mel. 

And it was why he had  _ really _ thought things might work out with Amber, even as she was rebounding from Isaac and he was pretending he wasn’t rebounding from Frank. For a while, it was like the whole world had been conspiring to get them together. If what had happened with Frank had been unintentional, what happened with Amber had felt like a purposeful confluence of the universe. At dinner with his old friend from high school. Frank looking into Amber’s lawyer. Dan’s daughter getting married. His mother coming back from Italy. Practically ever member of his circle of friends and family asking why he hadn’t settled down yet. 

Who was he to fight the whole world?

And he really did love her, even if she had been the rebound chick. 

But her life required a spotlight. She needed people and parties and lights and music and the freedom to drop everything and spend hours shmoozing with some new band. She lived on the excitement, same as Vinnie. Except his world burned and curled up at the edges when it came into contact with her world— he needed lies and sworn secrets and the cover of night to operate. Amber understood that, she really did, but understanding wasn’t the same as comfort, and it sure as hell wasn’t the same as happiness. 

“You’re… really broken up about this, huh.” Dan looked up at him with concern, snapping him once again out of his reverie. 

Vinnie blinked the sticky feeling out of his eyes and shook his head, not exactly to say no, but to shake out the cobwebs. “Nah, I’m okay.” He shrugged, the tiniest hitch of his shoulders. “I knew going in that this was gonna be the end.” He slapped Dan’s upper arm. “It’s only ‘cause you and Frank nagged me into it that it happened at all.”

Dan practically cackled at that, concern melting away. When he stopped, his smile was soft. “But it was good to have closure, right?” 

Vinnie bit the inside of his lip. He thought about Sonny, with whom there would never be any closure. 

He thought about Frank, whose “closure” had consisted of two sentences—  _ “I shouldn’t have let myself do this. Let’s just go back to how it was before it all happened, okay?” _

He was right— it was nice to have closure with Amber. She deserved it. They both did. 

There was a reason Dan was the Lifeguard, Vinnie mused.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I think we both needed that.”

Vinnie scratched at his temple, suddenly feeling exposed. 

“Listen, I gotta go. But thank you, seriously.” He grinned. “Even if your cabin is cursed.” 

“You sure you don’t want to stick around for a beer or something?” Dan put his hand on the back of Vinnie’s arm, just below the elbow. It was really amazing how much he really did feel like a secret long-lost uncle sometimes. The man had made himself family before Vinnie had ever even seen his face. “Frank called earlier to say he’s stopping by for something, and I could probably convince him to stay for dinner if we all wanted to toast your newfound bachelorhood.” 

Vinnie tried to smile at the joke, but found the idea of facing Frank right now unpalatable in the extreme. He made up an excuse. “No, sorry. My cousin asked for help with her car, and since everyone thinks I’m a mechanic when I’m not a mobster…” 

Dan nodded, but his eyes said ‘I don’t buy it.’

“Sure, son. I’d tell you to call me if you need an excuse to duck out,” he sighed, smiling mischievously, “But your real life cousin probably won’t believe I’m your uncle.” 

“I’ve got like fifty cousins, Uncle Mike, there’s bound to be some uncles they don’t know.” 

He clasped Dan around the wrist, and he returned the gesture. 

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

The nodded their goodbyes and Vinnie made his way out, taking the stairs two at a time. 

He wondered if Dan would mention to Frank that he and Amber broke it off.

He breathed in and held it as he made his way down the street, and didn’t breathe out until he was in his car. Maybe he  _ would _ go work on someone’s engine. Blast something ear splitting over his headphones and just… not think about anything. Try not to catalogue his collection of heartbreaks over the past few years. Try not to think about Sonny, or Pete, or Don Aiuppo, or Roger. Or Amber. Or Frank. 

Try not to ask himself what all of this had been worth. 

He had almost convinced himself it might be Amber, for a little while. After all, they’d never have met if he hadn’t been under. But a person wasn’t a prize for doing good.

He signalled onto the highway and watched as a red truck driven by a balding man with glasses passed him. He could see through the back windshield that the driver was talking to someone short— a kid? A very small woman? 

A dog?

He wondered how Drake was doing. 

He didn’t exactly have a relationship with the kid, but Frank had dragged him out for burgers or pizza a handful of times with Drake in tow, and he liked him. He seemed like a shockingly sensible and stable child considering his parents, but then again, people had probably also wondered how Mr. and Mrs. Terranova had ended up with one son a priest and the other a hood. 

It had been such a comfortable sort of strangeness, that span of weeks where he and Frank had settled into something resembling romance. It had started not long after Jenny had called it off— Frank would come by when separation proceedings were rocky (which was most of the time), and Vinnie appreciated the company. He hadn’t told anyone, not directly, but he  _ had _ been a little antsy about being alone since the business with the hospital. 

Sometimes they would just get drunk, or order takeout and play Duck Hunt. Sometimes Frank slept on his couch. Sometimes they talked, more than Vinnie really ever thought Frank even  _ could _ talk, and other times they’d watch TV, or Frank would read, quiet and moody. 

And then, one night, out of nowhere, Frank had announced:

“You know, sometimes I think maybe I’d have been better off if I were gay.”

Vinnie had swallowed hard. They were pretty damn cozy, side-by-side on the couch, sharing warmth as they watched  _ Night Court, _ for a line like  _ that _ . 

He laughed, hoping that if he pretended hard enough he wasn’t turning red, Frank might somehow go colorblind. “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a guy who just put his arm around you.”

Frank rolled his eyes, always annoyed. “It’s not about  _ you _ , Vince.”

“Well, what is it about?” Vinnie’s panic continued blooming despite the denial. He had never considered the remotest possibility that Frank might lean in the same direction he did, and the sudden realization that he’d kind of be okay with it if he did was making his eyes cross. A sensation like heartburn, but foggier and a little more tingly, settled over his entire midsection. Was he… attracted to Frank McPike?

He had never asked himself that before.

He had never  _ let _ himself ask that before. 

Frank sighed and tilted his head back, looking above the television. 

“I just don’t understand women.” He crossed his arms defensively, but the gesture carried the tone of petulance. “I just don’t get what they’re thinking, I don’t understand the decisions they make, I…” He stopped, screwing his mouth up to one side.

Vinnie wasn’t stupid, even if he spent a lot of his time playing dumb. Jenny had done something inscrutable again and Frank was failing to process it. He wasn’t burning with some kind of secret gay lust, he was just mad at his soon-to-be-ex-wife.

“No one understands women,” Vinnie consoled him, weakly, not really agreeing with his own words. 

“See,” Frank shook his head slightly, the short hair at the back of his neck brushing against Vinnie’s arm, “I don’t think that’s true. There have got to be some men who understand the secret, because otherwise 100% of marriages would end in divorce or jail time.” 

Something about this thought experiment was suddenly very irritating. 

Vinnie felt his voice dipping into moody teenager territory, snot and pout, as he asked, “And you think your life would be  _ easier _ if, instead of having to try to understand women, you could just… be a gay undercover federal agent.” 

“ _ No _ ,” Frank droned, eyes fluttering shut in that oh-so-superior way. “I’m not an idiot, Vince, I can see how that would  _ not _ be the path of least resistance.” His voice, low as always, burrowed even deeper into the earth as he ended his sentence. He added very quietly, “It would just be nice to be in a relationship with someone I understand.”

Vinnie half-wanted to roll his eyes. That was what everyone wanted— Frank thinking that somehow it was magically easier for two men felt incongruously naive. Frank was never naive. 

This was stupid. 

“Well, y’know,” Vinnie breathed, feigning innocence himself. There was no way he was going to let Frank  _ ‘I Know Better Than Anyone’ _ McPike live this line of questioning down. He turned so the tip of his nose was very close to Frank’s cheekbone, close enough to smell his aftershave. “I’m happy to kiss you if you want to prove to yourself that that’s a dead-end idea.” 

As soon as he felt Frank tense, before he had a chance to respond, he leaned in and planted an uncomfortably wet kiss on his cheek.

“Jesus ch—” Frank tried to push him off, but Vinnie grabbed his face and landed another sloppy grandma kiss on his forehead. “Get  _ off _ me, you gorilla—” 

Vinnie had no fear of reprisal— Frank was laughing through this directive. He kissed him on the other cheek, and Frank swatted at his head and his chest, trying to smother his grin. 

He laughed himself, between threatening kissy-faces. “What, you afraid you might like it?”

Frank’s mouth was on his, all clumsy teeth, and then as soon as it happened it was over.

Frank glared at him. 

Although, maybe glare wasn’t exactly the right word. He did look sort of angry, but then again, he almost always looked sort of angry. But there was a defiant set to his chin that scrambled Vinnie’s ability to read his expression.

“Don’t do shit like that, Vince.” He almost snarled. “Not unless you’re prepared for consequences you might not want.” 

Frank’s anger was a dare:  _ question me on this, why don’t you. See what it gets you. _

The threat— of what? Violence? Why would he have kissed him for real like that?— hung in the air between them, Frank’s blue eyes sparking angry behind his glasses.

Vinnie leaned in and kissed him, no longer joking.

To his immense surprise, Frank’s lips parted for him, and his hand was suddenly on the back of Vinnie’s neck. He let his own hand snake down to Frank’s ribs, and pulled him closer. 

He was  _ definitely _ attracted to Frank McPike. 

Frank’s nose brushed his cheek and his glasses pressed softly against the outside corner of his eye. He was so strangely quiet and pliable, so open, like someone who  _ hadn’t _ long ago learned that bellowing fury was the best and easiest way to get what he wanted. Vinnie could practically taste his aftershave, mossy with something citrusy lingering below the surface. He cupped Frank’s cheek and pressed his tongue deeper into his mouth, his whole body like a plasma globe. 

Briefly, Frank acquiesced, leaning into Vinnie, and then he pulled away. 

He put his hand over his mouth and looked at the carpet. 

Vinnie found himself very worried and more than halfway hard.

“This is a very stupid and wildly inappropriate idea,” Frank groaned, arms crossed once more. He let his head fall back on the couch and turned to look at Vinnie.

“I won’t argue with that,” Vinnie agreed. He folded his hands on his lap like a choirboy. 

Frank’s brows furrowed. “Why did you do that?”

Vinnie squinted, shaking his head slightly in confusion. “You kissed me first, Frank.” 

“I know, but I…” If his eyebrows could have gone any lower, they might have crawled down his face and into his shirt pocket. “Nevermind.” He took a deep breath in, eyes drifting to the floor. “I should probably go home.”

“You don’t have to go,” Vinnie rebutted, trying very hard to sound very neutral.

Frank’s eyelids lowered disdainfully and he glared at Vinnie from deep in the corners of his eyes. “What, and make a night of it?” He made no move to get up, despite his protestations.

Vinnie crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling, failing to tame his growing glower, moody and childish. He opened his mouth to speak and then stopped himself, fearing what might come out if he didn’t take a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Yeah, Frank, I’ll go run a bubble bath and you can get the roses and scented candles.” He mirrored Frank’s position, head tilted back, glaring. “I’m just saying, we can move on without having to pretend it never happened.”

“ _ Really _ ?” Frank spat, face twisted up into a poisonous smirk of sarcasm. 

“Yeah, really.”

“We can just ‘move on,’” he gestured, flicking his palms outward like he was preparing to conduct, “Have a nice polite conversation about the fact that you just stuck your tongue in my mouth, like we’re talking about baseball scores?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” 

“It really isn’t,” Frank bit, still glaring. 

“Well tell me, then,” Vinnie pressed, “How  _ would _ you like to discuss it? Is my  _ tone _ the problem?”

Frank’s volume rose sharply. “I wouldn’t like to discuss it at all!” His arms snapped back to crossed, folding in on himself. “I don’t know why I did that!” 

He squinted at Vinnie, sullen and overflowing with blame. Like somehow it was Vinnie’s fault, even though he had just admitted it was his own doing.

This was really not how Vinnie had foreseen his night going.

“I really don’t care, man. I get it, you thought you’d try it out. I was here.”

Looking a bit like an angry armadillo, all scrunched up, Frank took a long, noisy breath in and exhaled on a monumental grumble.

“You are such a pain in my ass.” 

Vinnie felt the backs of Frank’s fingers against his stubble, and then they were kissing again. He wrapped his arm around Frank, and Frank draped his hands behind Vinnie’s neck, and for a long time, they kissed. He gathered Frank against him and soon they were chest to chest, mouth to mouth, Frank half-straddling Vinnie’s thigh, the rest of his leg folded under himself. Vinnie ran his fingers against Frank’s short-shorn hair behind his ears and on the back of his neck, their noses mashing into one another, Frank pulling too hard at his collar. 

He wanted to pull him up all the way onto his lap, or push him down to the couch, but either option seemed like it might scare him off. If they were just going to make out all night, so be it. 

When Frank started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling his rumpled button-down away from his skin like it was a hundred and ninety degrees, Vinnie’s own internal temperature shot up. He helped Frank with his buttons.

This was  _ really _ not how he had foreseen his night going.

Frank pulled Vinnie’s shirt out from his belt, getting it up to his armpits before Vinnie realized he would have to pull away to get it up over his head. Reluctantly, he broke their kiss. Frank finished removing his shirt, and tossed it on the floor. He threw his own button-down to join it, leaving his old fashioned white sleeveless undershirt on. He pivoted on the couch so he was kneeling over Vinnie, and started to unbuckle his belt. 

Vinnie put his hand over Frank’s, blindsided by his boldness. 

“Whoah, hold up, man—”

Frank sighed, apparently an ambulatory vessel of pure exasperation even in the heat of the moment. “What, you need me to take you to dinner first?”

“No, I just…” He thought about the comment that started this all. “Have you ever done this before?” He looked at Frank with legitimate concern. “With a man?”

“Vincenzo, don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I’ve…” He groped for a word, mouth lolling open. “Dabbled.”

The level of heat that had been building plummeted, distinctly. “You’ve  _ dabbled _ ? How the hell do you ‘dabble’ in men?”

“Oh, because you’re the expert?”

“Comparatively,” Vinnie admitted. 

Frank sighed, taking his glasses off and cleaning them on the hem of his undershirt. 

“Look,” he rubbed, “I’m allowing myself to make a bad decision, here, without spending the next decade of my life thinking through it ahead of time. I have absolutely no idea why you have any interest in going along with this sudden break in my lucidity,” he placed his glasses back on and looked Vinnie in the eye as he spoke, “But if you’re going to be a party to it, don’t  _ also _ try to talk me out of it, alright?” 

Vinnie unbuckled his belt buckle with one hand and swept his other hand under Frank’s shirt. Frank leaned in, one hand on Vinnie’s neck, the other on his ribs. When his own belt and pants were undone, he fumblingly undid Frank’s snap and zipper, just enough to see the waistband of his underwear. He grabbed on to the sides of Frank’s pants and gently tugged downwards, signalling Frank to sit up a little taller. He kept his mouth pressed to Vinnie’s almost aggressively, his tongue sweeping against his teeth. Vinnie pulled his pants down to his knees, and Frank stepped one leg onto the floor to shake them the rest of the way off. 

He stumbled slightly— Vinnie’s fault— he set him off balance trying to free the other side at the same time— and Vinnie grabbed him around the waist before he could fall. He threw caution to the wind and took the moment to stand from the couch, lifting Frank with him. The man was a featherweight, and for the first time in his life he was being cooperative about something, so he came away easily. He kicked his pants the rest of the way off in the air and Vinnie practically tackled him to the rug, all in one quick motion. Straddling Frank’s prone form, Vinnie stripped his jeans off and tossed them behind him. 

Frank looked up at him with an expression he had never seen on him before.

This was a  _ really _ bad idea. 

Vinnie leaned down and kissed Frank’s neck, just below the ear, and palmed his cock with his other hand. He really could not believe just how much he wanted to fuck his boss, or how obvious it was that he had been avoiding thinking about this exact thing for months.

Frank made a low noise somewhere between lust and surprise as Vinnie sucked on his skin and rubbed him through his underwear. His hand found its way between Vinnie’s legs in turn, slipping past the waistband of his briefs. 

With his fingers wrapped around Vinnie’s cock, he muttered, “Jesus.” 

Vinnie snorted, but didn’t make a move to stop kissing Frank’s neck. 

“I mean,” Frank swallowed— god, Vinnie could feel it under his tongue— “I’ve seen you in jeans, I knew it wasn’t  _ nothing _ , but,” he gasped as Vinnie squeezed his erection, “You really won the dick lottery, didn’t you?”

Letting the tip of his tongue linger on Frank’s reddening skin for just a moment longer before pulling away, Vinnie sat up. He grinned, and pulled his briefs down to the middle of his thighs. His cock sprang loose, more than ready for whatever Frank threw at it. 

“I haven’t received any complaints so far,” he shrugged, eyeteeth gleaming in the light of the TV. This was actually a lie, he reflected; some of his high school girlfriends had levied complaints. But there hadn’t been any since he had figured out the importance of ample lubrication. 

Frank rolled his eyes, and then smirked up at Vinnie, wavering uncomfortably between delight and resignation. “Why are we doing this?” He traced the outline of Vinnie’s ribs with his fingertips as he asked, then brushing down across his stomach to the dark hair at the base of his cock, so Vinnie didn’t take the line of questioning very seriously. 

“You’re doing an experiment to see if you could be gay,” he suggested helpfully. “And obviously I’m just very invested in the scientific method.” 

Trying not to smile, Frank looked off to the side, lips curling up. He lifted his hips and slid his underwear off, and then pushed himself up on one arm. 

Looking more than a little nervous, he rose to his knees and leaned in close enough for their cocks to touch, and brushed his lips against Vinnie’s jawbone. Vinnie grabbed him from under his arm, around the shoulder blades, and stroked them both together with his other hand. Frank pressed his tongue against the soft space where Vinnie’s jaw met his neck, and Vinnie ground his hips against Frank’s. 

Slightly overwhelmed after Frank responded in kind and his licking took a turn towards teeth, Vinnie released his grip on their erections. He tugged up at the hem of Frank’s undershirt, and he felt Frank stiffen— or perhaps more appropriately, freeze— against him. 

He stopped and looked at Frank. 

“You okay?”

Frank’s eyes darted down, eyelids fluttering with indignation. “Yeah, I’m okay, I just.” He looked back up, heavy-lidded, lips pursed in sardonic resignation. “Last person to see me in my altogether was Lillah, which was a mistake, and before that, it was Jenny averting her eyes when I got out of the shower without a towel. I’m not exactly a prize, Vince.” 

Vinnie peeled the undershirt off his skin and kissed just below his clavicle. He took Frank’s hand and guided it to his cock, heavy and rebar-stiff. 

“Does it seem like I’m turned off?” 

Frank looked Vinnie up and down, eyes steely, mouth pulling into a tight line. He glanced at his hand on Vinnie’s erection, and then back up to meet his eyes. He gave it a tentative stroke, leaning in to kiss Vinnie in the same place he had just been kissed.

“No,” he admitted, muttering into Vinnie’s skin. “But I don’t get it,” he groused, his lips tracing his collarbone down to his sternum. “I don’t get what you could possibly be getting out of this, other than some real solid blackmail.” He kissed the sensitive spot at the bottom of Vinnie’s ribs, right in the middle, pressing his tongue into his skin. “Or maybe a good laugh,” he huffed, halfway to a laugh himself. 

Vinnie let his hand rest on Frank’s head as he trailed downward with his tongue, fingers soft in his short greying scruff. He wanted to interrupt him, tell him that this was lighting him up like a parade float, but he couldn’t quite land on the words that would work. Frank didn’t exactly seem like the type to react positively to sweet-talk. 

“I mean, it’s a good thing,” Frank groused, lips and tongue hot on Vinnie’s chest between his words, “that you’re not really friendly with any of the other agents.” His tongue flicked against Vinnie’s nipple, and Vinnie felt his cock twitch in Frank’s hand. “I can hear the water cooler talk— ‘can you believe McPike came onto me, that bald schlub, thought I’d be interested in getting it on with some idiot in the middle of a mid-life crisis…’”

There wasn’t that much hair to pull, since Frank was, in fact, balding, but Vinnie tangled his fingers hard in what there was. Frank gasped, not in a totally unpleasant sort of way.

The momentary distraction gave Vinnie an opening. “Are you looking for me to stroke your ego, here, Frank, or do you get off on self-flagellation?”

Frank looked up at him with annoyance. 

Vinnie grabbed Frank’s hand— the one that wasn’t on his dick— and brought his fingers up to his mouth, rubbing his lips against the backs of Frank’s knuckles. “You don’t think there’s a possibility,” he squeezed the tips of Frank’s fingers in his own, and parted his lips softly against his flesh. “That maybe I’m just hot for you?” 

He pulled Frank’s two fingers into his mouth, tongue darting between them. Frank’s grip on his dick tightened. 

Frank breathed in through his nose, audibly. Vinnie embarrassed himself a little trying to maintain eye contact as he sucked his friend’s fingers. He felt himself reddening as Frank watched him.

Frank pulled his fingers from Vinnie’s mouth and pushed him down on the carpet, straddling his thighs. Immediately he set to work sucking at the hollow of Vinnie’s throat, grinding their hips together. Vinnie knew Frank was the kind of man who got what he wanted, one way or another, but he had never contemplated how that might translate to sex. He found himself deep in contemplation now as Frank thrust against him, teeth and tongue against his neck. He was going to be bruised tomorrow. Heat swirled from his stomach down, pooling in his thighs at thought of it.

Vinnie gasped, low, through his teeth, as Frank trailed down his chest again. He ran a circle over one nipple, his hands firm on his ribs and upper arm, still sliding his cock along Vinnie’s. He flattened his tongue and pressed into it, the sensitive nub almost uncomfortably hard, and then sucked, his glasses catching the light from the TV as he tilted his head to the side. Vinnie rubbed the pad of his thumb across Frank’s forehead, his hand coming to rest on his cheek. Frank glanced upwards over his glasses, licked his lips, and sat partway up. 

He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing visibly. 

And then he moved down to straddle Vinnie’s calves, and brought his mouth down over the head of his cock. 

Vinnie bit the inside of his lip.

Frank grunted, ran his tongue across the slit, and pushed his lips down further. Very slowly at first, he settled into a rhythm, eyes occasionally darting to Vinnie’s face. 

He was struggling a little with the position he needed to be in to be able to breathe with such a large amount of cock in his mouth, and Vinnie kept feeling him swallow, kept feeling his teeth brush against his skin, kept feeling him hitch a little as he moved to breathe better. His fervor made every bit of this absolutely breathtakingly hot. Vinnie tensed his thighs, fighting the temptation to fuck Frank’s handsome face for all it was worth. 

He took a very deep breath, holding it with his diaphragm, and let it out slowly. He tried to look at everything that was happening objectively, making an attempt to engage his upstairs brain as much as his downstairs one. 

Frank made a soft, quiet noise against Vinnie’s dick, and any measure of calm he might have obtained was obliterated. 

He tried a different tactic.

“And you’re, uh,” Vinnie breathed, trying to keep his noises in check, “You’re new to this?”

He had never had someone laugh while sucking him off before, but then again, he had also never had a decorated federal agent on his knees for him, either. 

Frank licked his lips as he pulled away, wiping at the line of saliva that followed. 

“I told you, I’ve dabbled.” 

Vinnie snorted. “Well, let me tell you, pal, I’m appreciating all this dabbling that’s going on.” 

Frank leaned back, settling his ass on Vinnie’s legs. He rubbed at the side of his jaw, jostling his glasses slightly. “Jesus, now I know how a boa constrictor feels.” 

Vinnie fixed his glasses for him. 

“Oh—” Frank grunted, suddenly flustered. “Should’ve taken them off I guess. Nothing sexier than a physical reminder of my aging and frailty, right.” 

“It is sexy. Means you wanna look at me,” Vinnie grinned, wolfish. He grabbed Frank’s chin and kissed him, a quick, sweet press of lips and tongue. “Besides, makes you look smart.”

Foreheads touching, Frank half-choked on a laugh. His eyes wrinkled at the corners. He never smiled like that.

Breaking away from Vinnie’s touch, Frank softly shook his head, still smiling. His eyes trailed down Vinnie’s body, absentmindedly rubbing at his lip with the back of his forefinger. 

His voice was a low rumble, lust and longing in waveform. “God I wanna fuck you, you smarmy sonuvabitch.” 

Vinnie could feel his mouth hanging open, but he couldn’t seem to do much about it. His cock responded for him, twitching involuntarily. He licked his lower lip.

Usually he wasn’t much for bottoming, but the rawness of Frank’s honesty made him want to try. 

“Not that I’m saying that’s what we have to do,” Frank backpedaled, probably made self-conscious by Vinnie’s silence. “Hell, ignoring the fact that I shouldn’t be doing this at all, I mean, this is already more action than I’ve gotten in mon—” 

“I have condoms in the bedroom,” Vinnie interrupted, the words complete mush in his mouth. He cleared his throat, feeling like his face had to be luminescent red. “I…” He swallowed, nodding, convincing himself he was up for it. “I’d let you fuck me.” 

Frank’s mouth was a hard line, and his eyes had narrowed to squints. 

“Okay,” he started slowly, one side of his mouth quirking slightly. “But ‘let’ makes me feel like you’re doing me a favor or something, y’know? Like borrowing your car or your record collection or something.” 

Vinnie nodded, a tiny motion at first. He smiled, contrite, lips pressed tightly together. “It’s not usually my thing, no.” 

Frank shrugged, throwing his hands out to the sides. “That’s fine,” he assured, brows furrowed like he had said something hurtful. “I’d like to fuck Christie Brinkley, too,” he grumbled, bowing his head slightly, “But I’m comfortable with the reality that certain things are simply outside my mortal reach. I’m more than happy to just keep doing what we’re doing, Vince, I—”

Literally putting a finger to his lips to quiet him, Vinnie rebutted, “Frank, will you shut the hell up for a second? I said it’s not usually my thing, I didn’t say no.” He shrugged. “We’re already putting our careers and our personal lives and possibly our ability to look each other in the eye tomorrow in jeopardy, so why not give it a try?”

“I hope you don’t think that’s a  _ convincing _ argument,” Frank scowled, looking truly mystified. “‘This is already some real dumb shit, why not fuck it up further!’ is one hell of a line. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“You’re a regular stand up, Frank. My ribs are thoroughly tickled.” He crossed his arms, an utterly absurd gesture sitting naked on the floor. “Do you need me to say it?”

“Say what?” 

“That I  _ want _ you to fuck me.” 

Before either of them had a chance to say anything else, they were in the bedroom, stumbling into the wall as they kissed, Vinnie making a valiant effort to grope around blindly in the bedside drawer for condoms. They toppled onto the bed together, legs intertwined, hips pressed close, Vinnie’s mouth against Frank’s ear and jaw. Frank palmed Vinnie’s ass, breathing heavily on his cheek. His fingertips pressed into his flesh, kneading, hungry, spreading him a little. Vinnie’s heart rate shot up, his balls tightening, his cock suddenly so sensitive it was almost too much, grinding into Frank’s belly. 

Frank pushed his cheek against Vinnie’s face, dislodging his mouth from his ear, and pulled Vinnie’s lower lip into his mouth. He sucked, soft, gliding the tip of his tongue over his lip, as he massaged his ass, parting his cheeks and pressing tentatively into every sensitive place. 

Vinnie felt like a high-watt bulb screwed into a low-watt fixture, incandescently hot.

Frank stopped kissing him, his lips moving softly against the corner of his mouth before pulling away. They looked each other in the eye, nose-to-nose, and for a second Vinnie mistook the flood of sex hormones in his brain for something more serious. The way Frank was looking at him made his chest hurt. 

He handed him a condom and Astroglide, gamely raising his eyebrows. Frank smirked a little as he took them.

They repositioned themselves on the bed, Vinnie lying back, Frank between his legs. Frank wasted no time, squeezing lubricant onto his fingers and pushing one of Vinnie’s legs back for easier access. He kissed the tip of Vinnie’s straining erection and glided the tips of his fingers against his asshole. He slid his middle finger inside first, gentle enough but not particularly precious about it. 

Vinnie swallowed through the mixture of sensations, more pleasant than unpleasant, and watched Frank’s tongue trace his length from base to head. 

“Y’know,” he gasped, “I’m starting to think ‘dabbled’ might just mean ‘fucked.’”

Frank snorted. “Well I haven’t made a  _ career _ out of it, if that’s what you’re implying.” He gestured at what he was doing with his other hand. “You can do this with girls, too, y’know.” 

Vinnie laughed, and then another finger was inside him. His laughter turned audibly into a groan— no, if he were being honest, it was a full-on moan— and he bit his lip to quiet himself. Dirty trick. 

Still intermittently running his lips along Vinnie’s length, Frank stopped and looked up, blue eyes soft behind his glasses. God he looked good down there, lips all red, specs a little smudgy. 

“Y’okay?” 

Vinnie nodded. “Keep going,” he urged, meaning it. If Frank fucking him felt as good as Frank fingering him, he might have to admit that his taste for taking it had changed a bit in recent years. He hadn’t exactly had anything to complain about when Sonny fucked him, either. 

Frank squeezed out more lube and continued his ministrations, stretching him to three fingers as Vinnie palmed the sheets. High order thinking took a definite backseat to heat and pressure as Frank slid his fingers in and out of him. Vinnie felt precum drip down the underside of his cock.

Vinnie wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Frank sat up, holding the condom aloft with his clean hand. He arched his eyebrows in question. Vinnie nodded vigorously. 

Frank bit the package open and slid the condom out of its wrapper. 

“There’s no point of no return, here, for the record,” he mumbled, sliding the ring of latex around the head of his cock. “If this doesn’t do it for you just… tap me on the shoulder or something, okay?”

Vinnie turned over so he was on his knees, head down. He peered at Frank, still talking, over his shoulder. 

“This is supposed to be a good time for all parties involved,” he continued, rolling the condom down, “I mean, unless you’re my wife, that is.” He made a face— just barely noticeable, a half second at most— that hovered between regret and fear.

“I have a hard time believing anyone doesn’t have a good time with you, considering the last half hour,” Vinnie interrupted him, laughing into the bedspread. 

Frank lined himself up, and then made a noise of concern, a nasal kind of  _ hmm _ . 

“What?”

“I think you’re too tall and my knees are too bad for this, Vince.” Frank looked at him like an architectural puzzle, a piece of furniture to get around a difficult corner. “Lie on your side?”

“Sure,” Vinnie agreed, happy to be manhandled into whatever position Frank wanted him. 

Frank flopped onto his side behind Vinnie, and kissed the back of his neck. He palmed his thigh, pulling it up towards his stomach, and then the head of his cock was brushing against Vinnie’s ass. He pressed against him, and Vinnie pushed back in return. Frank’s hand moved to Vinnie’s cock as he pushed inside him, not stroking, just holding steady as he slid in deeper.

Vinnie was seeing stars. 

“Jenny really didn’t appreciate this?” he gasped, trying to joke so he wouldn’t just grind his ass over Frank’s cock like some needy sexed-up idiot. 

Frank murmured into his neck, voice low like thunder, “Maybe let’s not talk about my wife while I’m stomping all over my marital vows, alright?”

Vinnie laughed, setting off a series of uncontrollable shakes. “I think you’re free to stomp as you please,” he gasped as Frank moved, tongue against the back of his neck, “Considering how everything ende— fuck, fuck, Frank—”

Frank’s hand, sliding up and down his erection, was still slick with lube, and his cock inside him felt like a lightning rod jammed up his middle. Vinnie tried not to squirm against him, but god, god did he want to. He would be done for before Frank even got started thrusting if he didn’t slow things down. 

“I mean, I have to ask, considering how— oh god— how, uh, things’re going right-here-right-now, like,” he swallowed, spreading subconsciously as Frank pushed deeper inside him, “I just gotta wonder if maybe, uh— shit, oh— if Jenny is a lesbian.” 

Frank half-snorted, half-chuckled, a sound of pure malevolence. “I’d love to be able pretend that’s the case.” He kissed Vinnie’s shoulder. “She just hates me, Vince.” He licked the back of Vinnie’s ear and slid himself partway out, and then slowly pushed back in.

Unable to keep his eyes open, Vinnie fought the growing desire to just fuck himself silly on Frank’s cock. 

“What— what d’you think the odds—” He gasped, ragged, “The odds are that something like you an’ her both being—” 

“Could you stop? Is there a  _ reason _ we’re still on this topic?” Frank squeezed his cock at the base, putting constellations in front of Vinnie’s eyes. “Because I motion for a change.” 

The breathy laugh that came out of Vinnie’s mouth seemed like someone else’s voice. 

“Frank, because if I think too hard about anything sexier than imminent divorce, I’m gonna cum.”

Frank literally growled, pressing his whole body against Vinnie far harder than necessary. He scraped his neck with his teeth. He started thrusting into him for real, his hand in time with his cock. 

Vinnie made an embarrassing noise and Frank muttered, “Jesus, Vince,” into his neck. His grip tightened on Vinnie’s cock and he slipped in and out of him with increasing ferver. Vinnie ground himself into Frank, his mind a cluster of hot white light. 

They came quickly, not quite together, but in a trembling, groaning cascade. Vinnie’s thighs tensed and he splashed his stomach with cum, Frank shaking and wired, straining to push as deep inside him as he could. They both slowed, breathing heavy, and Frank pressed the bridge of his nose hard into Vinnie’s neck and shoulder. His breath was hot and shallow, and his hand roamed up to Vinnie’s stomach, still sticky. 

He pulled out, slowly, kissing Vinnie between the shoulder blades as he did. He sat up and tossed the condom in the wastebin, and then peered over Vinnie’s shoulder. Vinnie rolled over and looked up at him, and Frank snorted, grinning, unable to maintain eye contact. They both broke into quiet, wheezy laughter, their situation laid bare in its absurdity. 

Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose, displacing his glasses slightly. “I… cannot believe that just happened.” He looked over at the wall, suddenly deeply invested in Vinnie’s sheetrock. “So do we win the award for all-time dumbest OCB agents, or what?” 

Vinnie reached up and touched Frank’s face, lightly, with the backs of his fingers. “I mean, I get that one every year at the Christmas party, but I never thought you were quite as much of a dope as me.” He grabbed a handful of tissues from the nightstand and blotted himself off. He was absolutely getting lube all over the sheets, lying on his ass, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Hoo boy.” Leaning down on his elbow, Frank settled in beside Vinnie. “I don’t think you’re yet aware of just how much of a dope I can be.” 

“So,” Vinnie began, tossing the wad of tissues over Frank and into the trash, “What the hell was this all about, anyway?” He leaned up on his own elbow, mirroring Frank’s pose, like they were teenagers gossipping at a slumber party. “You start in with that ‘wouldn’t it be nice if I were gay,’ crap, and you say it’s not about me, but I’m having a hard time seeing how this wasn’t about me.”

“I was just bitching,” Frank dismissed, “I didn’t think you were going to take it as an invitation to jump my bones.” 

“You’re telling me that all of this was totally spur of the moment, then, that today is the first day you’ve ever thought about getting your hands on me?”

Frank blew air out between pursed lips, blinking hard. “Every time you storm into the OCB office in painted-on jeans and muscle shirt I wanna get my hands on you. I just can’t ever decide whether it’s to slap you and tell you to change your damn clothes or or to ask you to get down on your knees for me.” He bit the inside of his lip, looking like he wished he hadn’t said all of that out loud. 

“So then how the hell did you not see that whole conversation as a come-on?”

“Well, firstly, because I’m technically still a married man, Vince. I mean, on the off chance Jenny ever decides to take me back, how the hell am I gonna explain,” he gestured between himself and Vinnie, “this?”

Vinnie’s cheeks puffed out and he almost quacked with laughter. “I think maybe you don’t bring it up. ‘Hey, just letting you know, while we were separated, I got my rocks off with that good-lookin’ hood I’m always hanging around with—’” 

Frank rolled his eyes. “Will you shut up?”

“You said firstly.”

“What?”

“Well, usually a ‘secondly’ follows that, right?”

Biting the inside of his lip, Frank glared. “Because I didn’t think there was any way you could possibly be attracted to me.” 

Vinnie leaned over and ruffled what was left of the hair on top of Frank’s head; Frank grabbed him by the wrist and peeled his hand off. 

“I think you’re  _ adorable _ , Francis McPike,” Vinnie teased, voice all lollipops and sunshine. 

Frank looked like he was going to bite Vinnie’s hand off. “I will smother you in your sleep if you ever do that again, you glib bastard.” 

Vinnie flopped back on the bed, laughing. He pulled Frank down with him so he was resting in the crook of his arm. 

“So tell me, Frank, where did you learn how to  _ dabble _ ?” 

Frank grunted. “Before I got married. And…” He made a noise, sort of like a whistle through his nose. “There may have been one abortive attempt at  _ dabbling _ after that, although I felt too guilty to go through with it.” He gave Vinnie a look somewhere between a squint and a glare. “Let me make clear that my interest in men is…  _ minimal _ . I’m not going to lie to myself and say I’m totally heterosexual, but I’m not going to be marching in any parades any time soon, either, y’know?”

Vinnie understood where he was coming from, even if his interest in men was a little more than minimal. 

“I dunno, I think you could rock a pair of leather chaps.” 

“Christ,” Frank muttered, rolling his eyes. 

Vinnie trailed his fingers down Frank’s stomach, fuzzy and a little soft. Whatever hangups Frank had about his body, now that Vinnie was really letting himself  _ look _ at Frank, really, they certainly weren’t shared.

He watched Frank’s adam’s apple bob, a nervous swallow. 

“Vin.” 

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been with other guys.” It was a question, stated as a fact.

“Yeah.” Before Frank could continue, Vinnie admitted something he had only ever said out loud to Pete before. “Guys actually do it for me just as good as chicks.” He immediately transitioned to joking, unwilling to let that hang in the air for more than a second. “What, you wanna know how you measure up?” Vinnie grinned. “Looking for some tips?”

“I would frankly prefer you  _ not _ rate my performance, no,” Frank sighed. “I just…” He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, ending with an audible “oh, god.” He swallowed again. “When you were,” he stopped with a quiet intake of breath. He scratched at his chin. 

“Spit it out, Frank.”

“When you were working with Steelgrave…” 

Vinnie had been expecting something embarrassing— some kind of mushy question about his preferences in bed, or or about the first time he’d ever noticed a man’s body, or… God. Anything. Not that. 

He couldn’t respond, especially not to something open-ended like that. The words couldn’t make it past his throat.

“I,” Frank shifted, peeling away slightly like he wanted to get up. “I. Never mind. Forget it.” 

“Frank, I—” Vinnie breathed in deeply.

Frank looked up at the ceiling. “Forget it, Vince.” 

He sighed, quiet and melancholy. “It’s none of my business.” 

Vinnie prickled. “What’s none of your business?” 

Frank looked at Vinnie from the corner of his eyes, expression pained. “What’s gonna be gained from this conversation?”

Inside his mouth, Vinnie bit down slightly on the tip of his tongue. 

With surprising tenderness, Frank leaned his head on Vinnie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” Vinnie lolled his head against Frank’s. “There’s a reason I get the dumbest agent award every year.” He shrugged, feeling Frank’s hair brush bristley against his shoulder as he did. “Sorry it’s contagious.” 

Frank smiled, looking down towards his toes.

“Ever ignoring the fact that I’m now an  _ adulterer _ , you know we’ll lose our jobs, if anyone finds out this happened, right?”

Vinnie rolled his eyes so hard he could feel it in his sinuses. He had fucked a notorious mob boss, willingly, for months. A friendly tumble with his superior officer was nothing. “I guess I won’t include this in my weekly newsletter, then.” 

In theory, Frank swatted at the side of Vinnie’s face; in practice, he barely brushed him. “I’m just saying we need to be careful, you meathead.” 

“So…” Vinnie’s lip curled into a mischievous smirk. “You’re suggesting we do this again?” 

Frank sighed deeply. “I don’t know. We shouldn’t.  _ I _ shouldn’t.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb against the corner of his mouth, once again fascinated by the wall. “But…” He sighed again, even more exasperated than before. “In for a penny, I guess. Not like my  _ other  _ prospects are any good, and, shit, not like you couldn’t already get me court marshalled at this point.”

“You’re a real romantic, Frank.”

“Oh yeah. I’m a regular Mark Antony.” 

He settled in against Vinnie’s arm and chest, eyes closing behind his glasses.

The following weeks had been an exhilarating rush, a tapestry of high-stakes industry deals, cocktails with music moguls, and unbelievably hot sex with his boss. They had both expressed some level of worry that people might notice just how often a federal agent was spending the night at the home of a known criminal, and yet, somehow Vinnie kept waking up with Frank in his bed or at his kitchen table, sipping coffee. Whenever Frank had had to come by Dead Dog to ‘threaten’ him or berate Isaac, they had bickered incessantly, purposefully, knowing how much it got the other hot and bothered. At no point had either of them ever given name to the thing they were doing.

And then all of a sudden, shortly after Bobby had pieced together that Vinnie was a federal agent, and shortly before they had taken Newquay in, Frank had taken Vinnie aside and told him it was over. 

It hadn’t  _ entirely _ been a surprise, but it also certainly hadn’t felt good. 

He had moved on, but he had  _ missed _ Frank. 

He couldn’t deny that a little bit of his interest in Amber had sprouted from an interest in hurting Frank’s feelings, even if it had eventually become something much more than that.

And now here, in the present day, they were both gone, and Vinnie was on his back on the driveway, listening to a priest apologize for something he couldn’t change and had been an enormous asshole about anyway. He took the box of Pete’s stuff begrudgingly, and shuffled inside. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. He started reading through his father’s journal— why the hell had Pete even had this thing?— and the rest of the day passed in a hazy black-and-white blink. 

When the phone rang, late, too late, he was still so lost in thought he didn’t question it. Absentmindedly scrambling eggs, he squeezed the phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Terranova.” 

“Hey Vince.” It was Frank, of course. Probably calling to tell him to go meet some sleazebag at the docks or see if some senator was willing to negotiate a bribe or something. 

He moved the phone far enough away from his mouth that Frank couldn’t hear him sigh before he answered. “Yeah, Frank.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Why, is something going down?”

There was silence on the other end, long enough that Vinnie wondered if the connection had been cut somehow. He stirred his eggs in the pan.

“Well, I just.” Vinnie could hear him breathe in sharply. “Dan told me about you and Amber.” Another pause, punctuated only by the sound of sizzling oil. “I figured I’d check in on you, I guess.”

“Yeah, well. I told you before we even went that I knew it was over.” He sighed, picturing Amber, the image of her in a crisp white sweater, with red-rimmed eyes, over a backdrop of changing leaves seared forever in his brain like a flashbulb. An addition to the collection— happier, at least, than Susan, blank-faced, no recognition in her eyes, or Frank, grim and avoidant, framed by tacky hotel wallpaper, or Sonny, bloodied and heartbroken on the floor beside an antique jukebox. 

“I’m sorry, Vinnie,” Frank apologized. “I hope Dan and I didn’t make it worse.” 

“It’s fine.” Vinnie reached into the cabinet for a plate. “Really. We needed to talk to each other. Get everything out on the table, y’know?” He turned the heat down on the pan and slid the eggs onto the plate. He should’ve made some bacon or  _ something _ to go with it, but eggs and ketchup would have to do. “And we decided we wanted to try to stay friends, at least, which is better than where we left off last time.”

He speared a mouthful of eggs as he sat down at the little kitchen table, not really caring if Frank heard him chewing or talking with his mouth full.

There was another uncomfortably long pause before Frank responded, mumbling a weak but sincere, “I’m glad to hear that.”

He could see Frank in how he spoke— looking down, mouth pulled to one side, collar rumpled, eyes half-lidded and heavily bagged. Awkward as all get out whenever it got time to talk about feelings. 

Silence emanated from the receiver, and Vinnie could see that, too. He was probably shuffling his feet slightly, maybe itching one eye with his ring finger behind his glasses. He could hear the sound of a car passing by in the background.

Vinnie’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Are you calling from a payphone?”

“Well, y...es.” Frank cleared his throat. “I thought it would be… impolite to call from Dan’s place.”

“What,” Vinnie smirked, wondering if Frank could hear the smile in his voice. “You couldn’t wait to get home to confirm I’m a miserable bachelor again?” He licked his lower lip, still smiling. “Or does my mother have you on her payroll, now, making you check in on my romantic prospects?”

Frank protested immediately, as expected. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, alright?” He made a noise a little more annoyed than a grunt. “I shoulda known better.”

“You  _ are _ interrupting my sulk, Frank.” 

“If I only called you when you weren’t sulking, I’d never call you again, Terranova.” 

Vinnie poked uselessly at his eggs, trying to stop smiling.

“Frank.”

“Yes?”

Vinnie asked, against his better judgement. “Do you want to come by tonight?” 

Someone leaned on their horn in the distance, but Frank was quiet for a long time. Even if he said yes, which seemed increasingly unlikely with each passing forward tick of the second hand, it’s not like there was any guarantee it would be anything other than two friends sharing a beer. 

But at least maybe they could start to talk, a little, about what had happened. If he and Amber could do it, he couldn’t see why he and Frank couldn’t manage the same thing. Even if all they got was the same thing— closure. 

Frank took a deep breath in, audible despite the din of traffic behind him.

“I’d love that, Vince.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 1) Apparently I only write angsty porn for Wiseguy, which I guess is not all that surprising considering the source material  
> 2) Writing Frank as even remotely comfortable figuring out how to be vulnerable enough to fuck someone is a challenge without resorting to just posting links to Jonathan Banks' many faces of disdain and judgement as a reminder of the fact that we're talking about a hardcore curmudgeon, here  
> 3) Let me make very clear that everyone in Wiseguy is at least a bit of a misogynist (and frankly most of them are worse than that) and that this is reflected in my writing in order to keep them in character even though it's not 1987 and I'm not a middle-aged TV producer man  
> 4) Amber absolutely got shafted by the story, which is a crying shame, because she was *easily* the only female character Vinnie had even a teaspoon of chemistry with  
> 5) Vinnie absolutely tried to nail Bobby when they first met but Bobby picked up on absolutely none of those signals  
> 6) Everyone in this show is such a mess, man
> 
> 12/15/20 - Edited and updated, because despite the more-than-once use of the word 'divorce' throughout the end of S2, apparently part of the way through S3 they decide Frank and Jenny are just separated, not divorced. Womp womp.  
> 


End file.
